


Discretions

by chezvous



Category: Shame (2011), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, M/M, PWP, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chezvous/pseuds/chezvous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is about to look away again when those startlingly clear grey-blue eyes flicker towards him, catching his own gaze, and the prickling at the edge of his consciousness becomes a flood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discretions

The man’s gaze is unnerving, to put it in the mildest of terms, so steady and unblinking that Charles smiles quickly back and averts his own eyes under the guise of steadying the grocery bag between his knees. He’s not being stared at—not exactly, but the stranger’s intense focus cuts through the clutter like a scalpel to Charles’ head.

Charles is not usually this skittish; it must be the nerves that always accompany moving to a new city. He’s only been in New York City for two weeks, and the transition hasn’t been exactly easy. Cambridge is busy, but at least it quiets down at night—New York is relentless and unrepentant. He spent the first three days with a bottle of aspirin in the front pocket of his windbreaker and even now, it’s difficult to suppress the overwhelming torrent of stray thoughts, even over the rumbling of the subway. Charles will never cease to be amazed—and seriously perturbed—at what people think about when they’re underground. It makes his skin itch for the sun if he lingers on it for too long.

He’s got to give credit to human evolution, though; after the first week, he’s all but adapted to the background noise until everything faded into just a faint buzzing in the back of his mind.

Time passes—five minutes, ten. When he dares to raise his eyes again, the man is looking in another direction and Charles is able to better scrutinize him. He is undeniably handsome, statuesque and impeccably dressed in a long wool coat with a cobalt blue scarf, dark hair coiffed perfectly though it’s a little past five in the evening so he must be on his way home from work.

Despite the heat of his gaze before, something else radiates from his body, reined in by his willpower alone. It renders him untouchable, like a steel coil wound tight, utterly in control of himself and all the more dangerous for it.

Charles is about to look away again when those startlingly clear grey-blue eyes flicker towards him, catching his own gaze, and the prickling at the edge of his consciousness becomes a flood. Suddenly it takes every ounce of self-restraint he possesses not to curl in on himself, dispossessed lust coming from nowhere (that’s not true—he knows exactly where it’s coming from) and roaring so strongly in his veins that he’s afraid he might gag on it and cause a scene.

Fragments of images cloud his vision. First the rustle of stiff white hotel sheets, then the soft glow of the bedside lamp followed by the heavy, cloying musk of sex. The man’s name is Brandon, but Charles only learns this because he’s the one gasping it out loud over and over, voice hoarse and clawing at the sheets as he’s flipped onto his back and pounded into again before he can draw a proper breath, Brandon’s teeth set deep in his naked shoulder, the muted thud of flesh slapping against flesh and filthy words whispered in his ear as the sweat drips down his forehead and he presses his palms against the smooth finish of the headboard in a desperate bid to keep pace as Brandon fucks into him deeper, panting with his teeth bared, gorgeously lithe and terribly primal.

Charles is not the first Brandon has had tonight, and he won’t be the last.

 _No_ , thinks Brandon, and his voice is softer than Charles expected, _Thatwon’tdoitnotrightnotenough—_

The shift is abrupt. They’re in the subway car again, only the commuters around them have disappeared and they are alone but for one homeless man, dozing in the corner with the collar of his raggedy coat pulled up to his chin. Charles blinks and realizes that he is on his knees, cheek resting on a well-pressed, trouser-clad thigh. Long, thin fingers stroke through his hair, almost affectionately, getting snagged on a few tangles before tracing down his jawline and lifting beneath his chin.

He looks up obligingly and the curve of Brandon’s mouth is raised in what might be considered a smile when viewed in natural light. Charles’ breath hitches and his heart begins to hammer (or has it been doing that since the beginning and he’s only just noticed?) as he reaches up and slowly undoes the zipper of Brandon’s trousers, the flare of heat gathering in his face as he hooks a finger under the band of his briefs and pulls it over and down to reveal the jut of his cock—he’s well-endowed and there is nothing in his mind to signify that he might be exaggerating about its size.

Charles should be embarrassed and he is, or at least, he thinks that he is _, they’re in a public place for god’s sake_ , but that doesn’t stop him from swallowing Brandon down anyway with a stifled sort of moan and he can see himself through Brandon’s eyes now, the way his lowered lashes sweep across his cheeks, his flush only serving to make the freckles on his nose starker, the way his lips shine slick and red like grenadine stretched wide around him; perhaps they taste just as sweet and Brandon looks forward to finding out, but not before he comes down his throat first—

 Brandon’s eyes flick up to look at the subway map and it’s like Charles has been holding his breath underwater for far too long. He can’t help but gasp, hand sliding down the metal pole he realizes he’s been leaning on. He’s been the object of sexual fantasies before, but nothing has ever been this urgent, this— _visceral_.

He’s never been this close to losing himself in it before.

“Jackson Heights,” says the automated voice over the PA, cool and unruffled and only slightly crackling, as the subway slows down and lurches to a stop outside the station.

Charles hastily gathers his grocery bags and all but shoves his way out of the car, practically jogging through the crowd to the foot of the stairway before he finally stops to catch his breath, turning around for a last glance despite his better judgment.

Brandon hasn’t moved—this must not be his stop and Charles truly doesn’t know if the breath he finally lets out is relief or disappointment. To his chagrin, Brandon remains unruffled, face as passive as ever though his lips quirks up a fraction when he notices that Charles is looking. It’s not until the train doors close and it accelerates into the tunnel and disappears from view that Charles feels the heavy ache of a very real arousal pressing against the front of his own trousers.

“Damn it, Xavier. Keep it together,” He mutters, gritting his teeth against it and climbing the stairs, attributing the redness of his face to the December wind, and determined to take a different way home tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I went to see 'Shame' with my lovely [accursedspatula](http://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedspatula) last week and it was an incredibly affecting film--I highly recommend it for at least all of the reasons I listed in [this tumblr post](http://castores.tumblr.com/post/14695520407/i-just-got-back-from-shame-and-im-just-like). I think it says a lot that I'm only vaguely embarrassed that this fic happened because generally, porn and I don't exactly go together well.
> 
> Happy and Merry, everyone! ♥


End file.
